Now You Know Why You Must Live
by allonsysilvertongue
Summary: Post Mockingjay. One-Shot. A story of how Effie and Haymitch deals with the aftermath of the Rebellion. "He will make his way to her room, tries to shake her awake, there are nights when she won't wake up, caught in the fierce grip of her relentless nightmares."


**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Just playing around with it**

******I was reading the Game of Thrones when I had this idea to write this story. The title is from Pg 163, Chapter -Bran, Game of Thrones by George R. R Martin**

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Now You Know Why You Must Live

The boy of 16 who had a family, a girl & a possible life working in the coal mine ceases to exist.

He died when his name was Reaped, he died when Maysilee Donner died, he died when the Capitol killed his mother, his brother, and his girl. And he dies a little each time when the tributes he has to mentor are killed off, one by one. The Capitol holds no sway over him and this means that he has got nothing to live for; no one or nothing to ground him to this miserable solitary life.

And so he drinks. Mainly, to forget and numb the pain but secretly he harbors this wish that perhaps the alcohol will drive him to an early grave. Perhaps it already has.

And isn't it ironic that the person who has nothing left to offer and eager to die is still the one who is still alive? So many died during the rebellion; Finnick and Prim amongst them and yet, here he is still breathing, still drinking.

He sighs and makes his way to the kitchen in his house, strangely still standing after the bombing, to get more alcohol. Bottle in hand, he makes his way to the backyard and leans casually against the door frame, eyes searching for one person in particular.

He stands there silently observing Effie Trinket, the former escort of District 12, tossing handfuls of kernel of corn at the geese milling about in his backyard.

After the war, after Katniss shot President Coin and the death of Snow, Effie couldn't bear to live in the Capitol anymore. She would not, _could not_ reconcile the fact that they would willingly torture their own citizens.

So here she is, Effie Trinket living in his house after the war, trying to rebuild her life. He wasn't sure why or how, he was drunk naturally, when he offered her his home for her to stay in.

She isn't like the Effie he used to know. Not the Capitol Effie. She has her natural blond hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a light blue sundress in the stifling heat of District 12, a light layer of makeup adorning her porcelain skin. She looks.. Beautiful.

'Hold on, where did that came from?' he wonders, shaking his head.

She turned around, saw him and allows a small smile to slip past her perfect lips.

"Hello, up already?" she asks, piqued by his early rise, so uncharacteristic of Haymitch Abernathy.

He grunts uncommittedly in reply.

"Peeta sent over bread. I made tea, too, if you want some breakfast."

She brushes past him towards the kitchen and he follows suit. He didn't notice the bread and tea before him, too concerned with getting his bottle.

They have grudgingly learnt to accommodate and tolerate each other. She has stopped nagging at him about his notoriously abysmal manners, maybe because she is living in his house; rather hard for someone as prudish and uptight as her. He finds her tolerable though, when she isn't always asking him to mind his manners. On his part, he's stopped teasing her about her accent, her obsessive need for schedules and being on time and her ridiculous wig and make up, which she has gotten rid of.

Oh, Effie has her nightmares after her capture at the hands of the Capitol, but unlike him, she doesn't try to suppress them with alcohol like he does, choosing to soldier past the pain sober and as herself. Brave little Effie Trinket.

He doesn't drink as much at night anymore though, lying in bed at night slowly sipping from his bottle waiting for the inevitable screaming from her room.

He will make his way to her room, tries to shake her awake, there are nights when she won't wake up, caught in the fierce grip of her relentless nightmares. So he'll slip into bed beside her and draw her into his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely holding her tight until she stops shaking, the tears stop flowing and she goes back to sleep. Some nights, he will fall asleep in her bed with her in his arms. Some nights, he will go back to his bed and drink till he passes out.

Truth be told, he prefers it when he is in her bed, her warm body pressed close to him. He doesn't have to depend on the alcohol when he is cradling her in her arms.

He wonders what Effie would say if she knows what is in his mind. Lucky for him, and mercifully for everyone else, the contents of his private thoughts and innermost desires are not subject to judgment, as long as he doesn't commit a faux pas and blurts it out loud.

"Why do you drink so much, Haymitch? Does it really help to numb the pain, make you forget?" her voice brings him back from his dark thoughts.

"Only for awhile, sweetheart. So you keep drinking and drinking and drinking. Wouldn't recommend it for you, though."

"Oh?" She sounds surprised at his unbidden opinion.

"Yeah, one of us has to be sober. Who'll take care of the house then, eh?" he said, teasing her.

She laughs, musical notes tinkling about, dispelling the gloom from the dreary habitation he calls a house. He decides there and then that he likes hearing her laugh. There isn't much laughter in his house or in his life, for that matter.

"Thank you. For all you've done for me. Letting me stay here in your home, helping me with my nightmares at night." He wonders why she's suddenly turned serious, why she needs to thank him now of all times, after staying here for nearly three months. "I know- I know what the Capitol did to you after you won your Games. I know how you hate the Capitol and by extension, me for representing them. The very embodiment of the thing you loathe. But, what you've done for me, I can't-"

"I don't hate you, Eff. I did, but now? No. No, I don't. You're as much a victim as any of us." he brought the bottle to his lips, and drinks from it.

"You have no idea, do you, how much your presence calms me down? You make me feel safe, Haymitch." she plows on, determined to get it off her chest; to let this man knows how much he has helped her. "You- You're the only one I have left. The only constant in my life, with you, I don't feel completely alone."

He looks up at her, startled by this sudden, unexpected confession. She has clearly informed him how much she needs him and frankly, he doesn't know how to react or reply to her for that matter. Nobody has ever needed him for so long he forgot what it feels like.

He isn't very good with words. He grapples to find the right ones, to tell her that ever since she came to stay with him, he felt that his life has gotten a little bit better and richer each day. He doesn't drink as often anymore, he makes an effort to wake up in the morning and drag himself to live another day.

"Erm... I- ", he mumbles incoherently.

"So now you know why you must live. Don't drink yourself to death, Haymitch." She said, giving him a gentle smile as she rest her hand on top of his on the kitchen table.

'Yeah, I think, I finally have a reason to. Never thought it would be for you though,' he thought wryly to himself.

He turned his hand over and gave hers a gentle squeeze to let her know that he understood.

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**Thanks for reading and reviews are always very lovely and inspires me to write :)**

**Thank you too, to Capo, the awesome beta.**


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